


Hold My Hand And Never Let Go

by GaHoolianGirl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dorks in Love, Fluff, Gift Giving, Heart-to-Heart, M/M, Sappy, This is a retelling of the Dalish Gloves gift giving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 14:08:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10336320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaHoolianGirl/pseuds/GaHoolianGirl
Summary: “They’re...like your mother’s, yes?”I really hope so or I think I might die of embarrassment...“Thank you. No one’s ever just...given me a gift before. May I ask where you got them?"“My mother and father are gone, Zevran. I have not seen my clan in a whole year. As of right now...you are all the family have."Though Zevran would deny it in the morning, Cyriel swore he felt him intertwine their fingers during the course of the night, gripping his hand like he hoped never to let go.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I was done with Zevran? WRONG. I'm never done eith Zev. This has been sitting around in my drafts for ages (I started it just shy of a year ago) and I fonally got around to finishing it.
> 
> Cyriel Mahariel has already made his debut in someone else's fic (I'll link when I can haha) but this is my first stab at writing my baby boy. He's a just barely 20 year old red head.

“Zevran?” Cyriel whispered to his bedmate. The whole camp was sleeping, so the world outside as well as in their tent was peaceful and quiet (for the most part, ignoring the raging Blight). Even his mabari, Eth, for all his boundless enthusiasm and energy, was soundly asleep by their feet.

His companion groaned, rolling over to face him. Cyriel knew it was an act, as the assassin had told him on numerous occasions that he was a light sleeper, “Hhm?”

He winced, nervous about his gift, “I’ve g-got something for you.”

Zevran blinked owlishly.

“Well, uhm...” Cyriel rolled onto his side, fumbling around in the darkness for his goal. He gasped victoriously when he found it and turned back to Zevran, whose full attention was now on him, which he wasn’t quite expecting

“H-Here!” Cyriel whispered loudly, shoving the gloves to his lover. Zevran received them with an _oof!_ and a chuckle. He examined them as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“Why are you giving me gloves?”

“They’re...like your mother’s, yes?” _I really hope so or I think I might die of embarrassment..._

“My mother’s---?” It took him a moment, but Zevran’s eyes widened, bringing the gloves closer to his face for inspection, “Maker’s breath, you’re right! These are like my mother’s!”

In the darkness, Cyriel could see Zevran tracing the stitching of the gloves, and testing the weight of the leather in his hands.

“They had more embroidery and the leather was less thick, but these are very close,” Zevran looked up at him with warm eyes, “Thank you. No one’s ever just...given me a gift before.”

Cyriel’s heart beat against his chest at the look, feeling a surge of affection well up in him, “I-I’m glad you like them.”

“May I ask where you got them?”

“O-Oh?” Cyriel swallowed thickly. He wasn’t ashamed of the answer; he was more worried that he might scare Zevran off with it, “I had traded for them b-before I left my clan. I use heavier armor now, so I thought maybe you’d l-like them?...”

Zevran scooted over closer to his lover, pressing a kiss against his forehead, “Thank you.”

Cyriel smiled, snuggling into Zevran’s chest, content to have pleased Zevran “You’re welcome, Zev.”

* * *

 Cyriel didn’t tell him of the gloves real origins until they were in Denerim. Taliesan’s body was barely cold, but Cyriel (and Zevran) had finally come to terms with their more than physical feelings for one another. They lie together in the room the Arl had provided for them (provided for Cyriel, but Zevran was so often there the door to his room was rarely opened).

“Z-Zevran,” for all the confidence he’d grown, that stutter really never left the boy, “I lied when I told you where I got those gloves.”

“I had figured as much. You are not a very good liar when your life is not on the line, my dearest Warden.”

Cyriel rubbed the back of his head, cheeks stained a deep red, “Saw right through me, huh?”

There was a smile in Zevran’s lips that no one besides Cyriel had ever seen, “Take it as a testament to how well I know you. Where _did_ you get the gloves, then?”

“I was telling the truth when I said I got them from my clan, but...t-they were my mother’s. Before I left I was given a chest containing my parents belongings, and those were in there.”

Zevran paused a moment to reexamine the gloves that had become a permanent fixture on his hands. He knew that they held more significance than he was told, but to discover they were Cyriel’s mother’s...

“You gave me something so meaningful?” Zevran was not a man for tears, but there was no denying the way his voice wavered as he spoke, “I cannot...”

Cyriel reached out to grasp one of his ungloved hands, and Zevran could feel the warmth spread from that hand to his chest. The normal hesitance was gone from Cyriel’s voice, “My mother and father are gone, Zevran. I have not seen my clan in a whole year. As of right now...you are all the family I have. I wanted you to know, and that was the easiest way to do it.”

When he had finished explaining himself, redness flooded Cyriel’s cheeks, “A-Ah, if that's too heavy for you or...”

“No, no,” Zevran assured him, tightly squeezing his hand, “I’m rather appreciative of the gesture. To be called someone's new family is well...” his voice cracked from his unusual earnesty, “An honor.”

“My mother would have been happy that I gave those gloves to the person that I l-l-love, I think,” he said. Though he tripped over the word, there was no doubt that he meant it.

“To have the blessings of a dead woman? How lucky we are, yes?” Cyriel knew was directing the conversation away from the topic of love and Cyriel was fine with that. Zevran would say the words when he was ready.

“W-We are indeed. N-Now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself, why don't we sleep?”

“A fine suggestion, my dearest Warden.”

Zevran's eyes fell shut and his breathing evened; it might have been, for the first time since they’d met, that Cyriel saw Zevran truly sleep, unburdened by the threat of constant wakefulness. He closed his eyes in accordance, feeling safer than he ever had.

Though Zevran would deny it in the morning, Cyriel swore he felt him intertwine their fingers during the course of the night, gripping his hand like he hoped never to let go.•

**Author's Note:**

> It got sappy at the end... I hope you enjoyed reading!


End file.
